Comfort
by Sunset
Summary: Bobby at home


She turned, pulling at the sheet, wrenching it loose from its tucked position, revealing her bare feet. She flopped over again, her dark brown hair half escaping it's elastic binding, haphazardly spilled out. Lying on her back, one arm spread across the bed, the other lay over her eyes, as if shielding them from the light of the television that spread across her face and the skin of her belly, exposed by loose buttons come undone in the twists of dreamland. She sighed deeply, letting the air out easily before her breathing returned to deep and regular.  
  
He entered the room quietly, and stood just outside the stream of light from the tv, watching her. After a moment, he crossed through the beam, making his way to the dresser, resting his hand on it's smooth top, looking at the articles she'd deposited there. Searching for nothing in particular, just taking in the evidence of her presence. He gently lifted a bottle of her perfume; the delicate glass cupped snuggly within his palm as he lifted it to his nose, inhaling deeply. Setting the bottle back down, he shrugged out of his jacket and tugged at his tie. He considered turning off the tv, the incessant chatter she found hypnotizing only reminded him of the world he'd left outside the door. He decided against it, the sudden absence of the noise would wake her, and he wasn't ready for her to be awake just yet. Dropping himself into the overstuffed chair curbed in the corner of the room, he reached down and unlaced his shoes. Bringing himself only halfway back up, he rested his arms on his knees and looked at her again. In the last few months, watching as she slept had become somewhat of a ritual for him; it had a calming effect on him, giving his evening hours a serenity that the daylight hours sorely lacked. She stirred, murmuring something incomprehensible. Smiling slightly to himself, he stood, heavily, pulling the tie off as he did. Tossing it onto the chair, he unbuttoned his cuffs and pulled at his shirttail, untucking it.  
  
A few moments later he picked up the remote from where it had fallen to the floor on her side of the bed, pointed it directly at the television and powered it off. As if on cue, she stirred awake, inhaling deeply and sharply as she did. He watched as her eyes fluttered open then glance around, taking in the room quickly until they fell upon him, and she smiled warmly at the sight of him.  
  
"Hey you." she purred from the back of her throat, stretching her whole body as she did. Deliberately she pulled the sheet up, so not only were her feet exposed, but most of her calves were too. She wiggled her toes at him. In that one small movement, his entire body relaxed; the madness of his day, the weight of the worst of humanity lifted from his shoulders and his mind. He felt himself smiling as kneeled down on the floor, at the foot of the bed and grabbed her foot. "Ahh" she lightheartedly protested, bucking her trapped leg, fruitfully trying to pull it free from his grasp.  
  
He laughed, a short, solid burst, and suddenly let released his grasp. Her body rocked with the force of the kick, the power she'd used to buck against his grip reverberated in the empty air, the force turning her on her side, away from him.  
  
Their concert of laughter bounced off the walls, filling the room with a kind of light, the kind of laughter that only new lovers can share. She flopped back down, lying on her back, and craned her neck to look at him, as he climbed from his kneeling position at the foot of the bed, up onto the mattress, across her legs, stretching himself out next to her. "Hi." He muttered, his eyes gazing unashamedly at the undone buttons, her bare skin. Her hands followed his eyes, and she giggled with the discovery of her state of undress. Lifting her hips, she tugged the shirt straight, her fingers quickly redid two of the three undone buttons. With the suddenly clarity of a man just awoken from being hypnotized, he asked: "Is that my shirt?"  
  
"Yep" she answered, turning on her side facing him. Her expression was playfully defiant, her eyebrow cocked, as if saying 'whatcha gonna do 'bout it?'  
  
"Thought it looked familiar." His voice was light. He propped his head up on his elbow, his other hand reached out, brushing away the hair that had fallen into her eyes.  
  
She searched for something to say to him, she wanted to ask him about his day, to have him unload at least a little of that burden she knew was there, to let her in. But she'd learned early on in their relationship not to ask, knew that if she did, he'd give her a short, practiced answer, then roll away from her, so she didn't ask.  
  
He didn't seem to notice her silence, or did, but didn't mind. Flicking his eyes from her hair, he asked what she couldn't. "What'd you do today?"  
  
"I've almost finished that piece I've been working on."  
  
"The marble nude? Good, I'm interested in seeing it." Her being a sculptor was one of the first things that had attracted him to her. The possibility of his becoming subject matter for her never occurred to him until she announced she'd begun working on a nude shortly after they'd begun sleeping together. Her being insistent on him not seeing it 'just yet' only intrigued him all the more.  
  
"Oh, God! Don't slip into detective mode. You'll be the first to see it, I promise." She grinned teasingly, knowing it was eating at him, and enjoying it. Her grin glided into a smile, and she changed the subject. "Alex drop you off?"  
  
"Yeah." He let his hand fall from her hair, it landed on the mattress with a thump. He turned, so he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Taking the hint, she changed the subject. Placing her hand in the middle of his chest, making a connection, "Did you eat? Shall I make something for you?"  
  
"No, no." he answered quickly. "I'm not hungry. Stay here with me." Grasping her hand that lay on his chest, he interlaced his fingers with hers and lifted her hand up to his mouth. He kissed the inside of her wrist. Intuitively, she moved her body, so that she too was staring at the ceiling. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he curled himself, laying his head on her stomach.  
  
The softness of her skin, her breathing, her heartbeat, the combined musk of her lotion and perspiration, the feel of her fingers in his hair all conspired to allow him to exist solely in the moment, to let go the theories, the conjectures, the suppositions and just be. And he was finally able to do something he hadn't done in a long time. He exhaled. 


End file.
